You learn a lot as an editor. One of the great joys—and occasional cognitive overloads—of this job is the sheer breadth of subjects that cross my desk. In a given month, I might dive into Saugerties’s empty storefront problem, untangle the latest developments in the rollout of legal cannabis, ponder the regional effects of a mass federal defunding, and consider the art of the incarcerated. It’s an endlessly stimulating crash course in art, culture, science, and society, a reminder that curiosity is an occupational hazard.
Case in point: While putting together our weekly events newsletter in late February (subscribe here), I wrote about Nerd Nite Hudson Valley, a bimonthly gathering at the Howland Cultural Center in Beacon. Think TED Talks, but with a stronger commitment to deep-cut esoterica and a lower tolerance for pretension. At the February conclave, Dr. Ramesh Laungani presented “Howler Monkey Testicles: Should Barry Gibb Have Sung the Theme Song to Shaft?” which unpacked the evolutionary trade-off between vocal dominance and the size of one’s package. Smaller balls, deeper voice? Science says yes.
There are a couple of other Easter eggs of knowledge in our pages that I wish to share with you this month, lest you miss them. First up, speaking of testicles…
The Xapchyk Slaps
Among the many wonders I encountered while assembling this month’s issue, none shook me quite like the xapchyk. If you’re unfamiliar—and let’s be honest, you are—the xapchyk is a traditional Tuvan rattle made from the dried scrotum of a bull, filled with sheep knuckle bones. Yes, you read that correctly: a percussive instrument crafted from a once-proud bovine’s most intimate belongings. If nothing else, the xapchyk proves that rhythm can be found anywhere—sometimes in places you’d least expect, and certainly in places a bull would rather you not. Our man Sparrow previews a workshop and performance on March 15 by the Tuvan throat-singing ensemble Alash at the Local in Saugerties.
Heavy Lifting, Huge Following
The Hudson Valley is getting swole. We put out a call on Instagram asking about local weightlifting communities, and over 50 people responded—powerlifters, CrossFitters, bodybuilders, and folks just looking to lift their groceries without pulling a hamstring. Turns out, strength training isn’t just about maxing out your squat; it’s about mobility, injury prevention, and proving to yourself that, yes, you can hoist that heavy bag of dog food. Maggie Baribault’s piece in this issue dives into the region’s lifting boom, from community-driven gyms to trauma-informed coaching. One thing’s clear: the Hudson Valley is raising the bar—literally.
Swine and the City
Our Home editor Mary Angeles Armstrong profiles Tess Hogan and Raymond Doyle this month, a couple who live on a farm with a couple dozen pigs—who also have the run of the house. Fine. Not for me but fine. Before moving to Ulster Park however, Hogan had a pig for a pet when she lived in Brooklyn, introducing her to a niche community of fellow porciphiles. “There are a ton of people in New York City that have pigs,” Hogan told Armstrong. “I know at least five, and I’m sure there’s more than that. It just takes a bit of infrastructure.”
Now, I lived in Brooklyn, and I know New York City has long been a haven for eccentric pets—parrots on bicycles, ferrets in tote bags, the occasional iguana sunbathing on a fire escape. But pigs? The mind boggles at the logistics. Do they have a designated subway car, wedged between the accordion player and the guy with the pet snake? Is there an underground network of pig-friendly apartments, where landlords whisper, “We accept emotional support swine”? And what about a Take Your Pig to Work Day—do they get their own desk, or just root around in the communal snack drawer?
One imagines a city pig adjusting to urban life: Snout pressed against the glass of a bodega, longing for an oat milk cortado; sniffing out truffle fries in the Financial District; grumbling when a Williamsburg rooftop party runs past bedtime; and eventually moving up to the Hudson Valley like everybody else from Brooklyn.
This article appears in March 2025.
